Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  “Where did it go?” I say shrilly as my heart freezes.

  Nate jumps to his feet. “What? Is there a roach?”

  “No! My thong! From yesterday. It was right here.” I point at the cushion. “Barron was sitting on it.”

  Nate’s jaw slackens. “You let my great-uncle sit on your underwear?”

  Why does he have to say it like it’s totally illicit and dirty? My cheeks flame. “Not on purpose! I tried to let you know, but you just waggled your eyebrows!”

  “Oooh… Was that what…?” He points at the now empty seat, devoid of my underwear.

  Wait a minute. I narrow my eyes. “Did you take it?”

  “What, your thong? Me?” He actually puts a hand over his chest, all innocent. “Of course not.”

  “Then who took it? Not Barron.” Or did he? Oh my God. Why the hell would he do that? He didn’t seem like a perv. Then again, perverts don’t have “I’m an uncaught sex offender” tattooed on their foreheads.

  “You probably just imagined it out of panic,” Nate says. “Even I thought I was seeing things when he showed up like that.”

  “I am not imagining—” But hold on. Maybe I am. I mean, you do see things when you freak out, right? I put my hand to my forehead, breathing hard. Then I look down at my finger. The gold band winks at me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evie

  I insist on leaving Vegas as soon as possible. We accomplished more—a lot more—than we intended. Nobody’s going to call Elizabeth’s auctions fake or staged anymore. And I need to put some distance between myself and Nate, and pretend everything that supposedly happened after I got my ten of hearts didn’t happen. I just can’t think or talk about it and make it seem even more real when I’m still hung over from yesterday.

  While I supervise our luggage being loaded into the waiting limo, Nate, in his usual fashion, stops in the lobby to say goodbye to Tiny Tim, probably giving him all the tips the man won’t get because of our early departure. They chat for a few minutes and then shake hands.

  I schedule an Uber pickup for when we get back to L.A., then pretend to be asleep the entire time we’re flying to avoid talking to Nate. He doesn’t try to talk to me, either. He may not be able to dress himself, but he’s not entirely stupid.

  When we land in L.A., I don’t wait for Nate’s fancy car service. The instant the aircraft door opens, I run straight to my Uber, taking my overnight bag. If there are paparazzi, they’re being awfully discreet. They probably don’t want to get kicked out. Or maybe—hopefully—they found something juicier to gossip about.

  “Bye, Mr. Sterling. See you on Monday!” I say with a wave, and jump into the car before he can stop me.

  I have four missed calls from Mom. I can’t talk with her right now because I don’t know what to say. Marrying my boss is already crazy enough. Staying married to him is inconceivable. I just need to think of a way to get out of everything gracefully and still not lose my job.

  The second I walk into my apartment, Kim pounces. I feel like a mouse that just stuck its head out of a hole.

  “Tell me everything!” she demands. “And you owe me ten million apologies for ignoring my texts! I texted you, like, nine billion times!”

  “I know, I know!” I say, dumping my stuff on the floor because it’s beyond me to care right now. “But I couldn’t text you because I was hung over, and then there was Nate, and then Barron Sterling, and—”

  “What?” Her eyes go wide at the mention of Barron. “Start from the beginning.”

  So I do, and tell her everything I can remember. Well, except for the mysterious vanishing thong, because I’m still not sure who took my damn underwear. I’m hoping that talking the events out will jiggle something new loose from my memory.

  But nope. Nothing more comes to me. And now Kim knows everything she ever wanted to know about my time in Vegas.

  “By the way, you can never tell anybody what I just told you,” I say, needing to make sure every humiliating detail stays secret.

  “Puh-lease. I’m your friend and my lips are sealed.”

  “Sorry. I’m just freaking out. I didn’t expect things to get out of control so fast. Or for Barron to show up, acting like this whole wedding deal is real.”

  “That man does whatever he wants. He’s worse than Salazar.” Kim shakes her head.

  I don’t doubt that, especially having met him now. He’s a human bulldozer. Once he’s on a path, he goes. If something’s in the way, he just runs it over.

  “Anyway,” I say, “I’m going to have to find a way to undo all this. Get a quiet, discreet annulment. This is the twenty-first century. I’m sure Barron expects Nate to have a string of wives. People get divorced all the time.”

  “Uh, you might want to rethink that.” Kim says. “I’m sure he doesn’t expect a string of wives. Barron Sterling is very traditional.”

  I put a hand on my belly. There’s a vile, gnawing bug inside it, eating away at my stomach lining. This entire day has been a nightmare. Actually, this entire weekend.

  “Didn’t you say he wanted to have a party to welcome you to the family?” Kim asks.

  “Uh-huh.”

  She grows serious. Like career-advice-giving moment serious, and the damn bug is gnawing faster. “Well, then…yeah. It’s final.”

  Every cell in my body bristles. “That’s positively medieval. He can’t make me stay married to my boss.”

  “Then what are you going to tell him? ‘Sorry, Mr. Sterling, but your grandnephew and I got so drunk, we got married without realizing what we were doing. And when you showed up, we were too hung over to tell you the truth. Hope you don’t mind.’” Kim adds a fake smile and a cute little shrug.

  “That’s not helpful,” I say, annoyed she is agreeing with the little voice in my head.

  “What? The smile?” She sobers. “I was trying to imitate the kind of expression you’d be wearing, telling him all that. I call it the Doomed Yet Hopeful Fool.”

  Normally I’d laugh, but my head is still achy, and really, nothing about being married to Nate is funny. “Thanks. What would I do without you cheering me on?”

  “Look, there are only three things for you to consider here.”

  “And they are?”

  “One, is the marriage certificate legit?”

  Oooh, good question. I didn’t check, and I doubt Nate did either. We just assumed, like the tabloid writers. But you know what they say about “assuming.” Immediately feeling better, I decide Kim can still be my friend.

  “Two, did you have sex with Nate?”

  What the hell? “You know the answer to that one.”

  “If you’d asked me yesterday, yeah, sure. But you married the man. Things are different now. It’s a commonly accepted practice for a woman and her husband to fuck each other’s brains out on their wedding night, especially when the woman’s been lusting after the husband’s hot, topless body for months.”

  I take it back. She can’t be my friend anymore, not when she says stuff like—

  “And three, did you use protection?”

  My jaw hits the metaphorical floor so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t break. She knows I’m not on anything—no matter what I use, it messes me up—and I have no idea if Nate carries condoms around. His pants pockets are definitely empty when I hand them to him…but maybe in his wallet? Anyway, she knows I don’t remember. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because we didn’t have sex.

  I would’ve definitely remembered it if I had it with someone I had dirty fantasies about for months.

  “You’re fired,” I say.

  An eyebrow goes up. “From what position?”

  “Friend.”

  “Whatever. The day you start paying me is the day you can fire me. Besides, you’ll want to keep me around when I tell you there’s a very easy solution to all this.”

  “There is?” I lean forward eagerly. Kim always has an answer.

  “Just go along with it for a few
months. Then quietly divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. It happens. You two got married suddenly, plus you were drunk. So nobody’s going to be surprised.”

  “Why can’t we do that right now?” I cringe at how whiny I sound.

  “Because you have to convince everyone you tried to make it work. If you divorce immediately, who’s going to believe you? Most people expect you to know Nate’s quirks because you’ve been working for him for almost a year. So a few months are necessary for you to convince the world there’s a huge difference between dealing with Nate the boss and Nate the husband.”

  This is not what I want to hear. But I can’t argue with her logic. Besides, I recall Barron’s face from this morning. He’ll probably accept the failure of Nate’s and my marriage with grace if we fake some effort.

  And there really doesn’t seem to be any other way forward.

  I clench my hands as grim determination courses through me. I can do this. It’s only a few months.

  My phone rings—a call from Mom. I’ve put her off long enough. She deserves an answer.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice warm. Even though I’m about to tell her something I’m too embarrassed about—Hello, yeah, um, I don’t quite remember getting married—I don’t want her to think I’m upset with her or don’t appreciate her. She’s the one constant person in my life—my rock, my best friend, my everything. She sacrificed everything for me, including her dream of becoming a nurse. Even though she never brings it up, I can never forget it. Or appreciate her enough.

  “Evie, hon, what’s going on?” she asks, the words tight and hurried. “Suzy told me you got married!”

  “Well, uh, yeah. About that—”

  “Apparently it’s all over the news. Not that I really believe her, because she’s such a nosy woman, but I just had to make sure. She said there were pictures, but you know how people can doctor those nowadays.”

  “Right.” I wince. Mom hates it when her next-door neighbor is right. And I feel the same way, because Suzy was one of the most vocal gossips when the situation with Chadwick went south. “Well, it’s sort of complicated.” I swallow a huge ball of knotted nerves stuck in my throat. “My boss and I are, uh, married.”

  A loud gasp hits me harder than a punch. “But you never said! Never even hinted. It’s such a big decision.”

  There’s so much confusion and hurt in her tone. This must be how Catholics feel when they confess.

  “It was, well, very sudden. And maybe a little too impulsive.”

  “I understand he’s a billionaire. The nephew of Barron Sterling.”

  I clear my throat, embarrassed at hearing the concern in her voice. “He is. Grand-nephew.”

  “Oh my goodness. Evie, hon.”

  A lot of people might sound thrilled, even greedy, at learning their child married into a family like the Sterlings. Not Mom, though. She’s just anxious for me.

  “People like that aren’t like us. And from what you’ve told me, he’s nothing like you. You’re too independent, too sensible for him. He’s going to want somebody he can boss around so he can feel better about himself.”

  “Mom,” I say, slightly uncomfortable with how she’s denigrating Nate. He’s really not an asshole…although, given his background, he probably should be.

  She isn’t finished. “A full-grown man who can’t even pick out his own clothes? Who ever heard of such a thing? And can’t make his own breakfast?”

  “Well, he’s an important man. His time is better off spent managing all the nonprofit hospitals and stuff his family funds.” There. That should elevate her opinion of Nate.

  “You mean his family gave him a job.”

  That sounds so full of judgment that I don’t know what to say for a moment. But then I gather myself. “He gave me a job when there was nothing much on my résumé. He pays me better than most people with my kind of experience and education, and he’s always treated me fairly.”

  Yes, especially the topless parade every morning.

  “Well, I just don’t want to see you hurt because of some slick city suit,” she says. “You deserve better.”

  “Mom, try to be open-minded.” But even as I say it, a bit of guilt pierces me. She had to help me the last time when things went bad. “I know the whole thing with Chad turned out badly, but I’m not as naïve as I used to be. I promise, I’ll be careful. I’m not making the same mistake again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nate

  No more bachelorhood.

  I think about that as I step into my home and toss myself on a long couch, strategically positioned to face the waterfall. Which means my eyes land on the statue from Barron. From this angle, the statue couple is back to good old missionary. Not creative, but classic. You can see the woman’s face as you drive into her, get to appreciate the moment when the orgasm breaks over her.

  Wonder what Evie looks like when she comes. Flushed cheeks? Maybe a bit of sweat? But wait: does she sweat…or does she glow? And is she a screamer or a whimperer?

  My cock says, Let’s find out!

  My brain says, Stop having fantasies that aren’t going anywhere soon. It’s going to hurt your dick more than it hurts anybody else.

  It’s unfair. I’m married to the woman I’ve been lusting after for months, but here I am sitting alone in my Malibu mansion. Actually, the hell with “unfair.” It’s like some Greek tragedy revenge of the gods. What have I done that was so wrong?

  Maybe I should’ve insisted she do her wifely duty… Okay, maybe not. But at least come move in with me.

  But from the way she ran, that would have made her quit on the spot.

  The intercom buzzes, and a security alert pops up on my phone.

  My heart beats a little faster, hope stirring. Maybe it’s Evie coming back to say she was wrong to abandon me the way she did. Maybe she’ll offer to have sex with me to make up for it. After all, there’s nothing stopping us from indulging in our more carnal inclinations. We’re married!

  But no. My phone shows Court’s familiar mug. What the hell is he doing here?

  “Dude! Open up! I know you’re in there!”

  I consider pretending I’m not home, but change my mind. He’s a persistent SOB, and when he sets his mind to do something, he does it. That’s why he kidnapped his girlfriend’s sister from her own wedding—he’s just that focused on getting what he wants. The fact that he abducted the wrong girl didn’t set him back much.

  I hit the “open” button on my phone, then go back to being prone on the couch. Court isn’t worth getting off my ass for.

  Ten seconds later he’s inside the house, and one second after that he’s shouting, “Hey! You’re really married?”

  He’s in a purple T-shirt that says, “I gave my heart to Skittles,” and blue denim shorts. For a second I wonder why the hell he’s professing undying love for a candy, until I remember that’s the nickname he gave his girlfriend.

  “What happened to your Southern gentleman manners?”

  “Screw manners. Dude! Married? What the hell? I couldn’t believe it when Yuna told me.”

  Of course she knows, I think with an inward sigh. The woman knows everything. “She’s back in town?” I ask, trying to steer the topic away from my impossible-to-recall wedding.

  “Will be tomorrow, because her mom’s sending her back. Apparently Mrs. Min thinks Yuna needs to be around Ivy more so she starts to realize what she’s missing in life.”

  Yuna’s mother’s life goal is to have Yuna married. And then pregnant. In that order, no variation allowed. Of course, it isn’t easy to find a groom, because he has to be as wealthy as Yuna’s family, which owns a giant conglomerate in Korea. Although Yuna has never specifically said as much, I’m fairly sure the groom also has to be tall, handsome and Korean. Gotta keep the family line pure.

  “Tell her I can maybe hook her up,” I say.

  “How? Are you going to tell her to elope with the first billionaire bachelor she meets?” Court goes
to the kitchen and helps himself to my wine. The bastard never brings me anything.

  “You’re welcome,” I say pointedly, staring at the wine in his hand.

  “Hey, you owe me for hiding shit from me all this time. I just got engaged to Skittles—”

  “Whoa, seriously? Congratulations,” I say, genuinely pleased for him, because he’s crazy about the girl, and I think she makes him happy.

  “—and here you are, already married! You never even hinted you had feelings for your assistant. You just said she was good at her job.”

  What the hell did he expect me to do? Recite a sonnet? “Because she is good at her job.” Although there is a major downside: she always has to act so damn fucking professional around me, no matter what I try. It’s almost embarrassing, really. “And unlike you, I don’t go crazy with my affections. I’m a civilized person. So is she.”

  “Civilized, my ass.” Court snorts, then parks that same ass in one of the chairs. “If you’re so civilized…” He trails off as his gaze lands on the statue. “What the hell is that?” he says slowly.

  “A gift from Barron.”

  “He sent you an X-rated statue for your wedding?” He runs a hand across his mouth. “Shit. That’s like…” Squinting, he leans closer. “Can a woman really bend that way?”

  “I don’t know. All I see is missionary from over here.”

  “What?” He glances over at me, then understanding dawns. He gets up and walks around the statue, eyeing it from various angles. “Your great-uncle sent you a sex manual. What does he know about you that I don’t?”

  Gross. “Nothing. I’m quite experienced in bed, thank you. No woman’s ever complained.”

  “How could they, when they were too busy fantasizing about becoming your wife?”

  I should probably have a great comeback to this. Normally I’m capable of it. But right now, my head is still foggy from last night, and my focus slides back to the fact that the woman who really is my wife has never had sex with me. If we had, the suite would’ve been trashed. I have a list of things I want to do to her, and even a quarter of them would’ve absolutely ruined the room. Plus neither of us would be walking normally.